


Do Bad For Good

by KuraNova



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cawke, F/M, NSFW, Non-Fumbly!Cullen, Red Templars, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova/pseuds/KuraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stay down," came the low growl. His breath fanned warm and humid against her rain-soaked cheek.<br/>"Make me, you red lyrium son of a -"<br/>He cut her off, pressing his knee further into her back to the point of pain.<br/>"I'm serious, Hawke. Stay down, and do as I say."<br/>Wait a Blighted second. She knew that voice. She'd know that sexy, sultry purr anywhere.<br/>"Cullen?"</p><p>NSFW</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bushviper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushviper/gifts).



> Written for my lovely beta bushviper.  
> This work will likely have multiple installments. Please let me know what you think of it, or if you have any ideas for later chapters. ;)

 

The wind howled deafeningly in her ears, sea spray and rain splattering her face and dousing her hair so thoroughly she was certain she looked more like a drowned nug than a human woman. Shifting her hold on the worn grip of her staff, Hawke glared at her assailants. They'd surrounded her, that much was obvious. She was completely outnumbered.

Chest heaving, she lashed out with the bladed end of her staff, catching one of the Red Templars by the neck and sending him to the ground. She'd long since been silenced - she could feel her magic, but they'd stolen her ability to call upon it to aid her. For that, she was resigned to managing this the hard way.

With their comrade cut down like the brute he was, the other Templars fell in, eager to cut off a piece of the strange mage woman themselves. What mage would defy them alone, after all? Certainly she was touched in the head. One man slashed out with his broadsword, intending to sweep her legs out from under her. She'd had practice with this move during the Qunari uprising, and so it was with a deft jump that his swing passed beneath her, shortly before she skewered him and thrust him off of her staff to join his other friend on the ground. Another came, this time endeavoring to pin her between his sword and shield and his comrade's daggers.

Hawke swept her staff behind her, using her booted foot to shove the Templar in front of her away while knocking the would-be assassin off of his feet. She stabbed down once, impaling the poor sod before twirling her weapon and catching the last man in the leg as he recovered from his stumble.

Seeing the last fall, she wiped the mix of rain and sweat from her forehead when she heard the last Templar call for reinforcements.

"Shut _up_ , you bloody idiot!" She thwacked him once on the back of the skull to silence him, but it was too late. More Templars were rushing in her direction, and she'd bet every sovereign she owned that she wouldn't be able to outrun the-

Her train of thought was cut short as an arrow whizzed past her head, lodging itself into the tree trunk next to her. Spinning around, she saw probably the most intimidating sight since she had faced down the Arishok at the Viscount's keep.

A man, a decent head taller than she, held up one gloved hand to still the archer who must have fired on her. He was clad in all black leather, the silverite metal of his armor glinted only when the sun chanced to peek through the heavy cloud cover above. Across his shoulders lay a mantel of black fur, the same also covering the back of his helmet in a mane-like fashion. Such as it was, his helm had been forged in the visage of a fiercely growling lion, the jaws of which obstructed his face from view.

It made her uneasy to be unable to view his face. For one, she was curious to know who this man was, who looked so large and imposing and yet was hesitating to kill her outright. Someone with so much influence would surely have no problem dealing with her, outnumbered as she was. So why didn't he?

Of course, she had no real way of knowing if this was the man in charge of the red Templars, but there was something about the way he moved, the easy assurance with which he walked, and the way he ordered his men with nothing more than a hand gesture spoke of years of command expertise.

She was in a metric shit ton of trouble.

He began to walk toward her, a careful, measured gait of someone prepared to act should the need arise. If she had been some manner of animal and unaware of his attention, she would have almost called his deliberate movements stalking. Perhaps this was the reason behind the lion motif. To further add to Hawke's confusion, he hadn't drawn the sword that was hanging in plain sight on his hip. Only his shield, black again with the red flaming sword of the Templar Order emblazoned on the front, came between them.

Perhaps his behavior was strange, but it left her an opening, and she'd be going down fighting if she was going down at all.

Marian Hawke did not roll over and die easily.

With a growl she twirled her staff again, rushing in to try and get under his shield for a blow. If she could bleed him out slowly, perhaps she could survive this. He blocked, of course, rather easily, knocking her back. The motion was firm, but almost gentle in a way, like she was sparring with Carver. Confused, but unwilling to let that shake her, she moved in again, this time faking him out on his right side before tagging his knee.

Clang!

Shit. The bastard was armored even  _under_  his armor? What kind of paranoid lunatic did that, she wondered? Obviously the alive kind. He spun quickly, shoving her again with his shield, and again, she saw a slight opening. If she could just…

She hurried in, stunned when the force of a full blow from the beast of a man lifted her momentarily up off of the ground before throwing her back to it. He stood over her, not even winded, shield once again between them.

She was either crazy or really smacked her head, but she could swear he was considering something, and yet all she could see were those lion teeth gleaming in front of the black void of its maw.

Suddenly he was kneeling beside her, rolling her none too gently onto her stomach and taking both of her slim wrists in hand. She began to struggle, twisting her torso to give herself the leverage she needed to wrench her arms free, but his knee then planted itself firmly on the small of her back.

Maker, the bastard weighed as much as a bronto!

"Stay down," came the low growl. His breath fanned warm and humid against her rain-soaked cheek.

"Fucking make me, you red lyrium son of a bitch. I-"

He cut her off, pressing his knee further into her back to the point of pain.

"I'm serious, Hawke. Stay down, and do as I say."

Wait a Blighted second. She knew that voice. She'd know that sexy, sultry purr anywhere.

"Cullen?"

He tightened his grip on her wrists in a silent answer, letting up on some of the pressure against her back.

"Stihl! Get your ass back to the compound and alert the guard. We're bringing in a prisoner!" he barked, and Hawke for all her confusion, couldn't help but smile slightly at the no-nonsense tone he'd used.

Unbidden, memories of their last encounter played through her head as Cullen got to his feet, jerking her up after him to begin prompting her toward wherever the Templar base was.

_His hand fisting in her hair as his perfect, soft lips molded themselves to her neck, an arm tight around her waist while he rocked his hardened length against the juncture of her thighs. His practiced fingers then divested her of her armor with a pace every man should be entirely jealous of, his hand slipping down her stomach and beneath her leggings to tease her shuddering wet heat while she whimpered his name into his ear._

_"Come for me."_

Fuck. She bit her lip, experimentally tugging her wrists again. His grip was as sure as if he'd slapped her in iron manacles, and dammit, that turned her on. By the time they had reached the Templar base - an old dwarven ruin, by the look of it - Hawke had thoroughly soaked through her leathers, and was thankful the rain was so heavy no one would notice the effect their commander had on her body - while only holding her wrists.

"Commander Cullen," one Templar hurried to stand before them. "We've cleared out one of the holding cells. Shall I take the prisoner from you?"

"That won't be necessary. Have the healer brought to my quarters, as well as my dinner. Take all other concerns to Lancing afterward. I do not wish to be disturbed."

"At your order, commander." The man nodded, hurrying off in search of what Hawke could only assume was the healer.

Cullen drove her down a long dark hall, over a natural stone bridge beneath which sea water lapped and swirled against the stones in a steady rhythm, and finally through a set of iron doors molded in the dwarven style. He released her then to close the doors behind them, breathing out a sigh.

"Maker's breath, Hawke, what in Thedas are you doing out here?"

She turned, eyes widening as she watched him remove his helmet, shaking out his mane of soft blonde curls. His warm amber eyes regarded her critically for a moment, helmet loosely pinned beneath one arm.

"Uh...Cullen…" She could be a real idiot with a gorgeous man staring at her like that. Heck, she was. "You're hot."

Damn, did she say that? Well, it wasn't a lie, at least.

He smiled, the action slow and knowing, and the heat in his gaze made her stomach quiver. She was the lamb and he was the hungry wolf.

"What," he began, enunciating every word, "are you doing here?"

Right. She cleared her throat, crystalline blue eyes roaming appreciatively over his face. He'd filled out a bit - looked less gaunt. He was devastating.

"Warden business. That's all I can say at the moment," she finally managed, though just barely without drooling.

His eyes snapped angry fire at her. "Wardens? Are you one of them now?"

"What? No. I'm helping a friend."

Tension seemed to leave his shoulders then, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. Perhaps he wasn't angry at her after all.

"Good. That's good. I have it on decent authority that the Warden's have been having...troubles lately."

"Troubles like a false Calling maybe?" she asked curiously.

If Cullen was a Red Templar commander, surely he would know something of this false Calling Loghain had warned her about. Mac Tir had insinuated that it had something to do with the Order, but he hadn't enough evidence yet to confirm it.

Cullen's suddenly shuttered expression was all the confirmation she needed. The man was a horrible liar.

"That is none of your affair," he snapped, then his expression softened a bit. "I do not wish to trouble you with the politics of all this."

Oh, but she did want to be troubled if it had anything to do with the Wardens. What she'd heard - well, it was bad.

"Trouble me."

"What?" he seemed surprised, a small frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward.

"Trouble me, Cullen. What's going on with the Order?" She stepped closer to him, barely an arm's length away.

"Look," he lowered his voice, shifting his eyes about the room as if he half-expected someone to be spying on them, "I would tell you, but I can't. I would put your life at risk, more so than it is already, and I'm entirely unwilling to do so. As it is, I have my hands full trying to come up with a plan for your escape."

"Cullen…"

"Don't push me, Hawke," he growled.

The sound sent a shiver racing down her spine, and she took another step toward him, close enough to feel the heat of his body through his armor.

"But that's what I'm good at," she breathed, eyes flicking demurely to his.

The tension between them skyrocketed, his gaze lowering to the pert fullness of her mouth. Cullen leaned forward, his breath ghosting over her lips when a knock sounded at the door. A quiet curse left him, blush tinting his cheeks as he quickly moved away from her to open the door for the healer.

"Knight Commander?" the elven mage asked with more comfort around a Templar than Hawke expected.

"Brinn, this is Marian." Hawke noticed the deliberate omission of her last name. "I believe she's cracked a rib or two. Would you mind taking a look at her?"

Hawke flushed. Maker, she'd forgotten about the subtle ache in her chest. Cullen seemed to read her thoughts, regarding her with a small quirk of his lips.

"I heard them when I knocked you down."

Brinn motioned Hawke over to the bed where she sat while Cullen remained near the door, arms crossed in a perfect imitation of the stance she'd grown so fond of seeing in the Gallows courtyard. She followed Brinn's quiet instruction, removing her leather jerkin and linen shirt, revealing tanned skin pocked with small scars here and there. It was nothing surprising considering Hawke's odd variance of hobbies after her family had arrived in Kirkwall, and it was nothing she'd even felt particularly self-conscious about - that was until Cullen was standing in the bloody room, observing Brinn's ministrations with a watchful eye. She suddenly felt so exposed, feeling his gaze roam over her flesh in a way that had the slow-burning fire in her belly beginning to smolder hotter and more intensely than ever.

Maker, his eyes could do wicked things to a woman - they were doing wicked things to her right now.

The faint pulse of magic faded along with the blue healing light of Brinn's spell, and Hawke thanked the woman, hoping she gave what was supposed to look like an appreciative smile. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the Templar staring at her. The woman seemed to take it all in stride, however, rising from her seated position on the bed to bid Hawke a good night. On her way out she nodded to Cullen, a farewell he returned in kind before he closed the door behind the elf and slid the lock home.

The resounding click of metal on metal practically had her panting.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, voice sounding a little rough.

She was, but for something else entirely.

"Not for food," Hawke murmured, shifting her half-naked body in such a fashion that it was clear she was inviting him over.

Cullen hesitated only a moment, seeming to war with himself before shrugging out of his mantle and letting the garment fall to the floor. Slowly, deliberately, he held her gaze while he slid a hand over his breastplate to unfasten the clasp on one shoulder before moving to another. The heavy metal dropped to the stone floor with a thud, followed closely by his gauntlets, greaves and finally the dark leathers that padded his body from such immense weight. Each piece of clothing was shed without his breaking eye contact, each piece bringing him one tantalizing step closer to where Hawke sat on his large bed, panting for want of him. When he finally stood before her, he wore nothing but a pair of tight leggings, eyes narrowed on her rain-soaked pants as if they were the most offensive thing in the world.

She swore he even curled his lip at them.

"Off," he ordered.

Hawke moved to oblige, but slid a calculating smile in his direction, biting her lip and running her teeth over it. She could practically feel the rumbling growl from Cullen's chest as he watched her, his nostrils flaring and the strain in his leggings evident.

"You first," she breathed.

He moved faster than she could blink, tugging her ankles toward him as he began to walk her sopping wet leathers down her equally wet legs. She was rewarded with another growl, cursing, and finally a pleasant huff as the difficult article was tossing summarily over his shoulder, leaving her completely bare to him.

Hawke didn't believe in small clothes.

"I had forgotten," Cullen said as he slid a hand down the worked planes of his stomach and over the hard bulge in his pants, "that you enjoy  _not_  doing as you're told."

She shivered, a wry smile revealing her straight white teeth. Sitting up, she curled her legs beneath her and shifted closer to him. "How could you possibly forget, Knight Commander?"

"More like blocked out for my own well-being."

Hawke laughed, a throaty, seductive sound. Carefully, she leaned forward, nipping at the fingers that concealed him from her.

Suddenly smiling himself, he moved his hand away. It was then replaced with her hot mouth closing over him through his leggings, her eyes fluttering closed as her tongue ran along his length. Cullen shuddered, leaning into her, his hips pressing insistently against her mouth.

She hummed, moving up to tug at the laces to his pants with her teeth slowly, agonizingly slowly, revealing him to her hungry gaze.

Hawke flicked out her tongue, laving the tip of him. She was rewarded with his untempered buck against her mouth, groan sounding from the back of his throat. Hooking her fingers into his waistband, she allowed the weight of her body to slide his leggings down over his hips, trailing after the slipping material with a grin and the press of her lips against his eager flesh.

Really, why this man walked around with a hundred pounds of armor on, concealing him from the fawning mass of woman-kind was entirely beyond her understanding. She did, however, appreciate that she could take the pleasure of undressing him all for herself.

Perhaps she was enjoying herself too much, because when she slipped a nimble hand between her legs Cullen's voice, raspy with desire, made her freeze.

"None of that," he pulled away, leaving Hawke with a frown. The sight of it made him chuckle. "Lay back so you're diagonal across the mattress."

She did as he asked, scooting herself toward the edge of the bed so that her head was on one edge and her hips on the other. Hawke wondered with some excitement what Cullen had in mind. For a Templar, he had a filthy repertoire of things he liked to do in the bedroom. Their short fling in Kirkwall had only revealed a few of his little tricks to her, but she was certainly eager to learn more. If she were honest, before she'd taken up with him, she could count on one hand the variety of ways a man could please her. Since, she'd had trouble keeping up with how many ways he could please her with only two fingers.

Pulling her from her thoughts, Cullen gently dragged the backs of his fingernails up one of her legs, following the sensation with his body as he braced himself over her. Dropping his head to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, he nibbled the skin there before he spoke again.

"Hold onto me with both hands," he breathed, pushing her further over the edge of the mattress so that her head and shoulders hung over the floor. He braced her back with one strong arm, the other brushing fingertips back down her leg before lifting up her knee and hooking her leg around his hip.

Suddenly he was laying on top of her, his weight pressing the hard shaft of his desire straight up against her pearl. She scrambled for a hold against him, arms twining with his to brace herself as her hips lifted off the mattress to press insistently against him.

His resulting smug chuckle reverberated throughout her body, her legs tightening around his waist as he rocked his hips against hers. He drew a whimper from between her lips, and when his tongue laved the soft curve of her stomach in tandem with the slow, certain rhythm of his hips she started to beg.

"Cullen, please," she gasped. With each breath she found herself more and more light headed. With her head hanging over the side of the bed, the blood rushing there fogged her thoughts and reduced her to a quivering mass of sensation. She felt him, his hard cock rutting against her wet sex and the skilled ministrations of his tongue along the sensitive skin of her belly. She wanted more.

"For me," he said, and aside from being a little breathless, sounded none the worse for wear. Only his hard length straining against her gave her any notion that he was just as affected by her as she was by him. Cullen dragged his teeth over her skin, then reinforced what he'd said before. "I want you like this only for me. No one else."

Hawke shivered, goosebumps rising on her flesh as she felt the ripple of muscle beneath her hands. His back flexed, hips pulling away before he thrust into her in one swift movement, seating himself entirely within her with a long, low groan. She writhed beneath him, desperate little mewls of pleasure that she was unable to contain sounded in concert with her rapid breaths. Her torso, at the precise angle Cullen had desired it, allowed him to reach deeper inside of her to hit that spot that sent her squirming with gasping, shuddering delight.

He drew his hips forward, working her fast and hard and listening to the sounds that betrayed her excitement as he increased his pace. He would take this slow another time. For now, he was desperate for her, her slick heat beckoning him to do something about it.

_"Cullen!"_

Her entire body tensed beneath him, then she came undone in his arms as he chased after the same release. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his forehead to her sternum and gave himself up to the dizzying exhilaration of the moment. The scent of her desire, their intermingled sweat, and the soft panting sounds of her breath intensified in his ears a moment before he shuddered his release, his entire body molding to hers for a blessed moment before he took her hand from his shoulder and pulled her slowly upright.

Hawke was red faced and breathless, but she smiled tiredly at him.

"Is this how you treat all of your prisoners?" she quipped, but the sarcasm was lost in her afterglow.

His mouth quirked into a wry grin as he rolled, exhausted, onto his back beside her. "Only the insufferable ones."

She joined him, laying on her side to watch him. His eyes were closed, chest still heaving from his exertions. He looked almost peaceful, a quality she never would have never normally associated with his disposition.

"You must be very busy, then."

He snorted a laugh in reply, but didn't open his eyes.

"I have no idea how I'm going to lie you out of this one, Marian."

At the use of her given name, she softened, curling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "You don't have to. I'll think of something."

" _No_  explosions."

"Well, there go most of my options."

"I mean it."

She sighed, closing her eyes as well. "Thank you, Cullen. I owe you.

His hand came up to gently stroke her hair. "You don't owe me anything. I meant what I said in Kirkwall. My sword is yours."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She made a decision that was at odds with her orders. Hawke snorted in amusement. As if that had never happened before.

Hawke woke some time later with Cullen’s arm draped over her torso just beneath her breasts and his body pressed firmly against her side. He was nearly laying on top of her, the heat from his body making up for the lack of bedclothes covering her naked form. Although she had never spent the night with him before, she was comfortable, but something had woken her. Groggy, she blinked her bleary eyes and shifted toward Cullen, his arm tightening around her in response.

“Mmmh…” he mumbled, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck. He then pressed his hips firmly against her and-

Oh

 _That’s_ what had woken her.

Hawke was now entirely awake, debating on whether to interrupt his pleasant dream or simply let him have his way. He pressed against her again, his cock now half hard and sliding temptingly against her thigh.

“Ah,” he breathed against her collarbone, his little sound of pleasure shooting straight to her core.

Cullen rarely vocalized during sex, so when he did finally manage to, it turned her on all the more, and this was no exception. Whimpering herself, Hawke pressed her legs together, thinking that she should have been named a bloody saint for resisting waking him.

He was sleeping, and the man usually looked like he’d never slept a day in his life. Right now her sense of responsibility toward him warred with the fact that she wanted to roll him over, slide him home, and fuck him until he was making those delicious sounds just for her.

“Ngh!” This time the thrust of his hips was accompanied by a bite to her shoulder.

Oh, to the Void with this!

Hawke snaked a hand between their bodies, brushing her fingertips against the velvety soft length of him. In response, his hips bucked into her hand, another small sound of pleasure tearing from his throat. She teased him a while longer, dragging her forefinger up all the way from the base to the tip of his cock, making it jump as she swirled the pad of the digit over his slit. Emboldened by his quiet mewls of pleasure, she took him in hand and gave a long, firm stroke. He snapped his hips forward with a groan, breath hitching in the back of his throat and eyes blinking open as he came to under the gentle but firm touch of her hand.

Hawke pressed a kiss to his chest, eyes flicking up to his face only to find Cullen’s amber eyes, bright with arousal, smoldering into hers. Lips slightly parted as he held her gaze while her hand worked his cock, his expression was so wanton that Hawke nearly came from the sight of it. The impact of his unguarded desire for her was heady and, seeking to capitalize on the moment of abandon, she swung a leg over his hip, rolling him onto his back as she straddled him.

Cullen threw his head back with a groan at the feeling of her wet heat sliding along his shaft. She sat up on her knees, lifting herself away from him long enough to take him in hand, guiding him into her-

A resounding and urgent series of knocks on the door caused them both to freeze where they were. Like a pair of guilty teenagers, they flushed, and finally Cullen summoned the wherewithal to answer.

" _What?_ ” he barked harshly, unable to keep the thin snarl from his tone.

“Commander, sorry for the interruption, but we’ve had word from Therinfal,” the interloper called from outside.

In a huff Cullen would have normally called adorable, Hawke shifted off of him and away, moving quietly about the room picking up her clothes. He sat up as well, intending to dress, but was distracted by the sight of Hawke’s bare derriere as she bent over to retrieve her linen shirt.

He hungrily watched her bottom wiggle into her leggings before responding that he would be out in short order if only given a moment to dress. He did not miss Hawke’s smirk at his irritation, though he was positive she felt no kind feelings toward the soldier that’d interrupted their morning liaison.

When the sound of armored boots on stone faded outside the door, Cullen breathed a sigh and lifted his shirt over his head.

“I am curious to see what the others have found, but leaving you alone here wouldn’t sit well with me. Accompany me?”

The way he’d said it made it less of a question and more of a gentle instruction, but Hawke didn’t necessarily mind. Cullen had a level head and a good aptitude for reading a situation accurately, and he had never once acted in a way that would cause her to question his motives. He was a good man with good intentions, and nothing short of a demon possessing him would have her believe otherwise.

In response to his question, she nodded her assent. “Don’t you think your subordinates will wig out at the idea of a “scaaarrry maaage”,” she wiggled her fingers theatrically at this, “walking around with their commander as if they’re friends?”

Cullen smirked, deftly lacing the ties of his leathers. “Lovers.”

“Pardon?” she asked, voice muffled as she wrestled herself into her jerkin.

Cullen walked over, placing a hand on her stomach to still her before tugging at the hem of the short-sleeved jacket to free her face.

“Lovers,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “not friends.”

She leaned into him with a smile, fingers running over the sparse hair on his chest. “Lovers then. The better to frighten them with.”

He chuckled, forcing himself to move away from her before he got carried away. He had somewhere to be, much as he would have liked to shirk the duty. “Don’t expect too much hostility. These men are not the magic-hating radicals that you dealt with back in Kirkwall.”

She raised a glossy dark brow at him, silently bidding him to explain.

“I chose these men to accompany me personally. The Red Templars,” he sighed, searching for the right words, “we are not concerned with corralling apostates. Our desire is to have justice from the Chantry.”

Hawke’s expression smoothed in sudden understanding, and it was only the fact that he was in the middle of donning his plate that kept her from pulling him into a hug. “The lyrium,” she said quietly, and he nodded in reply.

The shackles that bound all Templars to serve - doing anything that was asked of them under the constant threat of insanity or death - often both. Ever since the disaster with Meredith, Cullen had taken a distinct dislike to the stuff.

When he’d fastened his mantle about his shoulders and regarded her with his steady, comforting gaze, he offered her part of an explanation. “The Red Templars are using red lyrium. I’ve been assured that this particular kind will not have the detrimental effects we saw in Meredith, but nevertheless, I’ve not allowed my men to take part - not until I’m sure it isn’t harmful. Well,” he amended, “as harmful.”

“So you’re out here because you refuse to follow orders again?” Despite her worry for him, she smiled at his rebellious streak. She and Cullen were far more alike than others who knew them would have thought.

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. “I’m Knight-Commander. I can do what I want.”

She snorted, walking after him as he opened the door and lead her out into the hall. “Maker save us from Knight-Commanders, then.”

When they arrived at the small gathering of captains and lieutenants Hawke could feel all eyes on her. She was the prisoner from the day before, the killer of a few of their comrades, and here she was, being gently prodded forward by their commander as if she wasn’t a danger at all.

A lover, she remembered him say, and her knees weakened at the sentiment.

“She is sympathetic to the Order,” Cullen offered by way of explanation, “and will accompany us back to Therinfal once we have finished our mission here.”

She first noted their surprised aspects, but none looked more taken aback than she felt. She schooled her expression, however, not wanting to appear unaware, though it would have been _nice_ to know his plan before he just rushed ahead with it.

They seemed to accept his words for what they were, as the commander had not led them astray thus far. In their gazes Hawke saw trust and respect. Not one man held the look of resentment or unease.

Once the matter of her presence was settled, much to her relief - and Cullen’s, she suspected, from his more relaxed posture - the officers began to speak of the correspondence they’d received from Therinfal. While Cullen and his men had successfully monopolized trade on the Storm Coast for the red Templars, it appeared their superiors had their eyes set further west to the shores of Lake Calenhad. It opened a direct route to the Frostbacks, they’d reasoned, and subsequently to Orzammar, which would make the lyrium trade much less expensive and less time consuming for both parties.

Cullen heartily agreed to this change of pace, having enough of the constant drizzle of the coast, claiming he would soon enough be rusting inside of his armor much to the amusement of his fellows. In short order, they’d gathered half of Cullen’s men and set out for a predetermined checkpoint near Crestwood.

“Talk about good luck,” Hawke grinned as she and Cullen walked ahead of the group. He stuck close to her, however, not wishing to incite disorder by making her appeared unwatched. He’d had a few of his men express some concern that he would allow this dangerous women such freedom when he knew so little about her, and he agreed with them. Were he in their position, he would have been asking the same questions.

“Luck? Getting captured by Templars is good luck to you?” he said, incredulous.

“Weeelll, you said yourself that you’d figure out a way to get me out of here,” she lowered her voice at that. “And you happen to be going my way, so I consider that luck.”

“Your way?”

“I need to meet Mac Tir out in Crestwood. He’s supposed to give me the rundown on what’s been happening with the Wardens.” She bit her lip, deciding she could trust him to keep his mouth shut with this information. “Clarel, the Orlesian Warden commander, has suggested a...solution to the Calling. It involves all sorts of fun, cheery things like binding mages to demons.” Hawke shot him a furtive, searching look. “We don’t have proof, though, just Mac Tir’s word.”

“Binding their mages?” Cullen sounded aghast at such a notion. “To what end?”

She shrugged. “Apparently to go down in a blaze of glory. Take the fight to the Darkspawn with a demon army and end all Blights. Sounds crazy, right?”

“Absolutely insane! If, and that’s a big if, they were to succeed, what then? Would they unleash these demons upon all of Thedas? Maker, that’d be nearly as devastating as a Blight.”

“So you get why I’m here, and why I can’t go around telling just anyone. Wardens are hunting Mac Tir, the Divine and her Seekers are still trying to track me down, and the mages and Templars that aren’t looking to improve their lot honestly have gone bat-shit crazy and are killing each other and anyone else that stands in their way. Either one would sell me out to curry favor faster than I could blink.”

Cullen was quiet as he digested this information. He knew things were bad, but he hadn’t realized how much so. He’d been largely concerned with Templar matters; too invested in the Order’s objectives to see what else had been going on around him. It was foolish of him to be so narrow-minded.

“Marian,” his voice was in that low, wondrous pitch that made her insides quiver. Maker, she loved it when he said her name, but especially when he said it like _that_.

“You can stay here,” he continued, “with me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, no. Oh, it would be so easy to simply forget everything else - to just remain with him and be, but the Order had its own problems, and eventually they would find her, too. Really, she should get Varric to slap a tattoo on her forehead that read: problem magnet. “I have work to do, just like you do.”

He nodded, needing no further explanation from her. It echoed the same nod he’d given her when she’d left him in Kirkwall. They walked on in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts before Hawke next spoke.

“What’s the real reason you left Kirkwall? I get the thing about the red Templars and wanting the Chantry to stop being an administration of not giving fucks about anyone but the Maker, but you didn’t have to leave to do that. The Gallows was like your own country, even without the mages. You could have done what you wished with little interference, especially with the Conclave coming up.”

He hesitated, hand twitching at his side as if he wanted to do _something_ , but stopped himself. Tossing a look over his shoulder, he ensured they were again out of earshot before murmuring, “I was looking for you.”

For her? Maker, this man.

“Cullen, I…” She what? Yes, she’d missed him, but she hadn’t thought much beyond that. While they had a past, it was hardly what one would have called romantic. They’d begun their affair out of a mutual attraction for one another, but feelings were something left out of the equation - something they’d not discussed. Certainly there was affection, but it had always been the kind she’d associated with friendship. or instance, Cullen had never once kissed her properly - romantically. Pecks on the cheek, her forehead, or _elsewhere_ were one thing, but kissing her on the mouth the way real couples did seemed to be something he wasn’t quite prepared to do.

“I didn’t know where you had gone,” he continued, “and with your atrocious track record for remaining out of trouble, I was...worried.”

“Atrocious, is it?”

“Abominable.” His little smirk was back, his eyes regarding her with a playful warmth.

“Well, I’m here now.”

“So you are.”

“Commander! Avvar raiders at the wagons!”

In the blink of an eye Cullen’s lion helm was again obstructing his handsome features from view as he drew his sword and hurried toward the conflict. Hawke ran after him, her staff at the ready. Cullen had secured its return to her earlier that day.

She’d never had many run-ins with the Avvar, but she was always surprised at just how big they were, easily taller than Cullen. The first man they met swung his axe down heavily at the commander. He brought his shield up to block, but resigned himself to bearing the blow - that was before Hawke blasted the bastard with a fireball. The impact of her spell sent the Avvar sprawling backward, and Cullen shot her what she assumed would be a grateful look were it not for his helmet.

Hawke stuck by him through the fight, the pair of them falling easily back into an old rhythm honed by countless encounters with demons, blood mages, and bandits; perfected in the life or death struggle that resulted from Anders’ betrayal. Cullen was her shield, keeping the melee off of her while she cast her devastating elemental magic. Their language came not in shouts and orders, but in subtle touches. If Cullen needed her to back off, he would sweep his forearm back to halt her. If Hawke needed a breather to regain her mana, she would place her hand on the small of Cullen’s back, sticking with him until she was ready to begin casting once more.

Hawke was a force of nature on her own, but with the Knight-Commander as her sword and shield, she was practically invincible, looking as fearsome as some warrior goddess  with her hair wild and feral grin. Cullen’s men might have been wary of her before, but after her demonstration of just how deadly she could be, they were only glad she was on their side.

Breathing heavily, the Champion and the Knight-Commander found themselves separated from the others, having just struck down the very last Avvar who had made the mistake of charging them.

Cheek smeared in blood and with a wild grin on her face, Hawke laughed as she strapped her staff to her back. “Just like old times!” She cocked her hip, regarding him with an appraising eye. Even in all of that armor, unable to see his face, she could feel him nearby - all carefully controlled power and measured movements once again reminding her of some kind of predatory beast.

Cullen reached up to remove his helmet, dropping it to the forest floor as he fixed her with a heady gaze.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice clipped.

“No,” she breathed, feeling the air suddenly charge between them. “Are you alright?”

“No.”

She frowned, looking him up and down for injury as he walked closer to her. He caged her up against the trunk of an old tree, hands brushing down her arms to grip her waist.

“Everything is not okay.” Cullen leaned in, biting her chin as he pressed the length of his body against hers. “I need to be inside of you.”

Her body shivered at the words, so earnestly spoken, but with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

“What about the others?” she asked, though he was already working on the laces of her pants.

“I don’t care.”

Shivering again, she passed a cursory look around the clearing, but no one was in sight. Wiggling a bit, she assisted him in pulling her pants down just enough to expose her heat which was rapidly growing wetter beneath his weighted gaze. He held her eyes, and she felt him shift around between them before his manhood was pressed firmly against her belly.

“Please,” he breathed, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, hips pressing forward again. “You have no idea how crazy you make me.”

She whimpered, jumping up to wrap her legs around his waist, her back propped up firmly against the trunk of the tree. “The feeling’s mutual,” Hawke spoke as she rubbed herself against him.

Cullen entered her in one swift thrust of his hips and Hawke’s breath caught at the welcome sensation of fullness. He started a quick pace, placing feather-light kisses along her neck and jaw as he pounded into her. With each stroke she mewled into his ear, his fevered touches igniting a frenzy within her.

“After you left, did you think of me when you were alone?” he asked. “Did you wish it was me touching you instead?”

She sighed, legs gripping him harder to her, wanting him deeper inside of her. “Every night. All the time.”

He curled an arm beneath her leg and changed the angle of her hips, hitting that perfect spot inside that made her toes curl and her moans louder. Needing to stifle her growing ardor from curious ears, Cullen brought up his other hand to place his fore and middle fingers inside of her mouth. She clamped down eagerly, sucking and biting at his digits viciously before he relented and dropped her hip.

Less frantic now, she dragged her tongue along his forefinger, swirling it around the pad before dragging her teeth all the way back down to the base. Fingers were sensitive things, and when Hawke began to mimic a certain rhythm - one which could be put to use on another part of his anatomy - his hips stuttered against her.

Sensing he was nearing release, Hawke withdrew his digits from her mouth, leaning forward to wrap her arms about his neck and bring her lips against his ear. “I call your name while I imagine you fucking me, Cullen. Do you think of me?”

He groaned, his wordless reply coming in the form of his cock slamming forcefully into her over and over again until she started to scream her release. Quickly, Cullen swallowed her cries with his mouth, body tensing as he followed her.

The pair were spent, breathing heavily and sweating more profusely than they had been during the fight. A tentative smile broke over Hawke’s glowing features, and Cullen returned it in kind as he pulled away from her. Steadying her on her feet, he pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head and sighed.

Appearing to realize something, he suddenly he seemed withdrawn - almost sad. “Marian,” he began, tucking himself back inside of his clothes before reaching out to smooth her hair, “No one else is around. You could- you should leave now. This is your chance to get away. I’ll cover for you.”

Much to her surprise, Hawke hesitated, biting her lip in indecision. She didn’t understand why she waited or what she was waiting for, but she shook her head in the negative. She didn’t want to leave - not just yet. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye again.

Sensing this, Cullen sighed, carding his fingers through his curls, growing curlier as they dampened with sweat. “Or you can stay,” he said carefully, watching her. “If you do, however, I can’t promise there will be another chance like this for you to flee.” Why? Why wasn’t she going, he asked himself? He forged ahead, needing her to be entirely aware of her position should she remain with him. The thought sent his stomach rolling, not out of fear, but a vague, unexamined sense of happiness. “If you stay, you need to understand that you’re in my custody, Marian, and need to do what I tell you when I tell you. I can’t have the others see me giving you special treatment, especially after what you did yesterday on the coast.”

Hawke nodded, gaze steady as she met his. “I understand, Cullen.” Then she fell back into her regular irreverent attitude. “Someone has to make your crappy lies believable.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t have to lie if you hadn’t shown up, practically on my doorstep.”

Her mood shifted again, once more serious. “Do you want me to go?”

He considered her with that wonderfully earnest gaze of his, holding her attention. “No.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, the lashes weren't so bad, but Hawke would take a spanking at the hand of the Knight Commander any day.

"Cullen!" came the harsh whisper, and barely a whisper at that.

Hawke wasn't the quiet sort, and her idea of subtlety was as graceful as a giant attempting a ballet. Thankfully for her, the heralding only reached his ears, as his quarters were set a bit further off from the others'.

He quickly motioned her inside his tent before she was seen, dimming the light on his lantern to throw the inside of the space into shadow. This way, two shapes would be more difficult to make out to any curious eyes.

Hawke had been given her own tent, and had set up nearer the female Templars under his command. He'd agreed with her on that point. While all Templars were dangerous, women were generally more sympathetic to other women, and often had less of a desire to prove themselves to each other by physically harmful means - in his experience, anyway. His men were a bit less circumspect - alright, a lot less circumspect. They usually welcomed the release of tension a good brawl brought on, and then were fine to go about their business afterwards. Cullen saw no reason to pay their scuffles much attention unless things got dangerous. There was one man in particular though, who seemed to be rather obsessed with Hawke's presence among them. He took great interest in her ability to fight so well at the side of the Knight Commander himself and was constantly attempting to bait her into fighting him.

That wasn't difficult. Hawke was easy to piss off, but she'd done admirably in her attempts to let his small barbs not catch and Cullen appreciated her restraint. It made his life much easier knowing that she wasn't going to explode on one of his men. He needed their loyalty and respect for this mission to be a success, and if Hawke became a problem, then he would have to deal with her.

He frowned, disliking the thought of that immensely. He would never fatally harm her, of course, never, but punishment suitable for a Templar would be applied, and Cullen took no pleasure in hurting anyone, least of all Marian Hawke.

"No one saw you?" he finally asked, watching her as she heaved a sigh and collapsed onto his cot. He sat at a small travel desk nearby, eyes roaming appraisingly over her lithe frame.

"No," she replied. "I can be quiet when I want."

He snorted. Not bloody well enough. "What did you need?"

"Aside from your gorgeous, hard body pinning me into your bed?" she grinned, the flash of an easy smile coaxing his own. "I need to send a letter."

"To Loghain?" he asked, curious. He understood she still needed to work, even within the confines of their arrangement, and he would facilitate that as best he could.

"To Varric, actually. Before I left Denerim, I received word from him about a small group of Chantry officials who were overseeing the upcoming Conclave. They need someone to manage their guard rotation during peace talks, and it looks like the Lord Seeker can't be bothered to attend in person." She blew out a breath. "Long story short, Varric wrote to see if I might have had anyone in mind for the job, since I seem to know  _all_  of the Chantry's Templars."

Her sarcasm was not lost on him, and yet he couldn't deny that Hawke  _did_  know her fair share of Templars. Most members of the Order in Kirkwall would know her on sight.

"You would throw a Templar to the Chantry to function as another pet beast, crushed beneath their heel?"

She shook her head. "No. This sounds different. I think the Divine herself is requesting an individual of merit to assist not only with her detail, but that of the mages and Templars as well." She waved a hand. "I"m not on the inside like Varric, but from what I gather, Cassandra Pentaghast has shot down every potential candidate thus far. Something about her having a giant stick up her ass."

Cullen huffed, knowing that name. She was a Hand of the Divine, and the very Seeker ordered to Kirkwall to acquire Hawke. Thankfully, the Champion had already been long gone before Cullen was forced to lie about their association - not that he knew where she had disappeared to, anyway.

"I never thought Varric the Chantry type."

"He more or less latched onto Cassandra, despite thinking she's incredibly stuck-up. He figures the Conclave will make for a good story."

He chuckled, remembering the dwarf's penchant for keeping a journal on hand to record 'moments of import' as he'd said on one occasion. "Of course he does."

"I was thinking of asking if you would go."

Cullen started, sitting up straighter in his chair. "What?"

"Dunno if you've noticed, Knight Commander, but you're damn good at your job. You're fair, considerate, and you don't hate mages. You have the respect of your men because you treat them like people, and if anything, were you at the Conclave, you'd be a great example of how the Chantry should approach managing their Templars."

Cullen considered her words, mulling them about in his head. If only he could be sure of having that much flexibility, he might have jumped at the chance. As it was, however, he'd taken an oath to the red Templars, and would endeavor to honor that until such a time when he considered his affiliation with them to be detrimental to either himself or his men. No longer would he sit idly by and watch others suffer when there was something that could be done about it. He would make his own way.

His eyes flit back to Hawke. She lay on his bed, a sight that sent the lancing heat of desire through his gut, and watched him with a wary expression. She was unsure, he realized - unsure of how he would respond to her praise.

"I will consider it. Perhaps when you write your letter, you'll ask for a bit more information on the Conclave, and what the Chantry plans to do about the mess they've made."

Her grin was swift and unguarded. He loved it when she smiled like that - like it was an expression solely for him.

"You mean that?"

He snorted, rising from his desk chair to shrug out of his mantle. "Since when do I ever say something I don't mean?" he asked, fingers now working at the fastenings of his breastplate.

She laughed, stifling the boisterous sound by clamping a hand over her mouth. "I suppose you're right, ser."

Cullen smiled, his eyes narrowing hungrily on her. "Excellent. Now, I'm going to fuck you."

* * *

Hawke's letter was sent out hidden among Cullen's various correspondence as they made their way further inland. Much to Cullen's disappointment, the rain didn't lessen, but transitioned from the annoying drizzle of the coast to the torrential downpour usually associated with Crestwood. Why he had been expecting a break from the wet and the cold, he'd no idea.

At this rate he thought he was liable to grow fins and gills.

The travelling had been quiet for the most part. There was the one Avvar raid, and then a group of sorry-looking bandits, but beyond that they'd made excellent headway. Throughout their journey Hawke would stick close to him, though they spoke little. They saved most of their conversation for late-night hours, or entirely unplanned, not at all thought out, and definitely not pre-meditated meetings when their unit had stopped for a rest. Cullen was growing used to her presence at his side, which was the biggest reason for his quick notice of her sudden absence.

"C'mon girly, just one bout. I promise I won't hurt ya!"

Hawke set her teeth, willing herself to not bash this fucker's head in for Cullen's sake. Surprisingly, invoking the Commander's name gave her a strength of will she didn't think she'd possessed.

"What's the matter, love, did mother dearest never teach you manners? You're supposed to respond when someone's talkin to ya."

Cullen had only caught the tail end of the man's comment, but knew enough about Hawke to realize two things. First, she was going to kill that poor recruit for even mentioning her mother. Second, she was probably going to do something unholy to the corpse for criticizing her manners, something Leandra was always harping on her eldest to improve.

He turned quickly on his heel, intending to intercept his angry little mage before she could get herself into a kind of trouble he couldn't save her from. Unfortunately, Hawke was quicker on the draw than Cullen, and had the recruit flat on his back and spitting teeth before he'd even made two strides in their direction.

"Never," Hawke growled, lip lifting in a snarl, "talk about my mom."

"Marian!"

Cullen's sharp call echoed down the path to her. She winced at the angry inflection in his voice. He'd told her to ignore the bastard, said that he was all bluster. The bastard had mentioned her mother, though, and that was one thing she never let slide. A mention of Leandra with anything less than respectful reverence had Hawke seeing red. Varric had often compared her to a charging druffalo - or the Arishok. She sort of preferred the latter. He was much less hairy.

Trying her best to appear contrite, Hawke spun on her heel with her hands behind her back. "Yes, Commander?"

Cullen's face was once again hidden behind his lion helm, and she was still irritated that she couldn't see his eyes, but she didn't have to look at his facial expression to know he was incredibly displeased. One of the officers, Lancing, if she remembered right, stood at Cullen's elbow. She could see  _his_  face, and knew she was in a fair amount of trouble. She  _had_  knocked a man's teeth out, after all.

"What happened here?" Cullen asked tightly. Hawke could hear the strain in his voice.

She nodded, eyes once again peeking at Lancing's pinched face before she took a breath and recounted her offence.

"You bloodied a man for calling your manners into question?" Lancing asked in disbelief.

"That's the short of it, yes," she replied. Cullen had remained silent during their exchange, no doubt dreaming up a way to berate her for her brash behavior later.

She suppressed an excited shudder. Some punishments were worth looking forward to.

What she didn't expect was for him to turn to Lancing and gruffly say, "Ten lashes."

Lashes?  _Lashes?_  Were they in the last Age or something? Since when were lashes an appropriate form of punishment?

Since you decided to rearrange someone's skull, she reminded herself.

Ten lashes weren't so bad compared to the various injuries she'd attained over the last few years, but they still smarted when she'd had to put her armor back on and walk another fifteen bloody miles to camp. By the time she'd set up her tent and fallen onto her bedroll, she already had one foot into the Fade.

She awoke what felt like minutes later to a faint scratching at her tent flap. Only the darkness outside the canvas alerted her to how much time had passed. As far as she knew Cullen was the only person she should expect at such a late hour, but after the scene she'd caused, she wasn't so sure of his desire to see her.

"I'm up," she called, attempting to rise onto her elbows. Pain from the open wounds on her back pulled at her sensitive skin, and she couldn't hide her grimace as Cullen appeared inside her tent.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving to kneel beside her.

"It could be worse," she quipped with some effort.

She felt his hand press down on her neck, urging her back down onto her bedroll as he moved her cover to expose her bloodied skin. He made a small tsking sound in the back of his throat, then smoothed something cold and wet over her injuries.

"Holy-!"

"Shhhh. It's going to sting for a bit. Don't make so much noise about it."

"It was better before you did that," she groused, but her ire dimmed somewhat at the realization that he was trying to take care of her.

"You'd rather take sick than suffer some stinging? Who knew the Champion of Kirkwall was such a baby?"

Hawke stiffened under his touch. "I am  _not_  a baby."

Cullen trailed one finger up the side of her rib cage, smiling at the shiver that coursed through her body despite the pain she was in. Thankfully, the salve Brinn had given him was already knitting closed her wounds. She'd be right as rain in no time.

Perhaps that knowledge was what drove his hand back down her body to cup one of the soft globes of her ass before he drew back and slapped her. Hard.

Hawke yelped, not expecting that, and turned on him with a glare.

"See? You can't even handle a little sting."

She twisted around now to face him, noting the sensitivity in her back had largely subsided. "Perhaps we should try for a role reversal and see how well you like it."

Cullen pulled one of her ankles toward him, flipping her body so that her stomach lay across his thighs. "I would much prefer this way."

Hawke's breasts were crushed against the hard muscles of his legs, and she couldn't help the excited wiggle she made in anticipation. "Are you sure? I have a mean left hook."

Cullen chuckled. "So I saw." He fondled her bottom again, fingers ghosting over her heat before he slapped his palm against her once more. This time, her yelp of surprise dissolved into a moan as she pushed herself back against his hand. She wanted him to touch her where she needed him, and he was being damned persistent about almost giving her the satisfaction, but not quite committing to her just yet.

Cullen's gaze traveled down the now healed skin of her back, pleased to see that not even a trace of a scar remained.

She grinned over her shoulder at him, eyelids fluttering momentarily at another slap of his hand against her ass. His fingertips hit squarely over her heat, drawing a pleasant shudder from her. Cullen couldn't resist. He spanked her again, but this time slid his middle finger down between her lips to rest it against her pearl.

When he didn't move, Hawke huffed angrily and jerked her hips against his hand. Cullen, grinning boyishly at her, moved his hand just enough so that the pressure against her core remained the same.

"Patience, Marian," he shifted out from under her to undress. Hawke was already nude, having tossed all of her clothes off in an effort to make herself more comfortable while she slept.

Only the soft rustle of clothing preceded the firm thigh which then pressed between her legs from behind, his torso stretching up over her back.

"Patience is for the birds," she growled, pressing herself back against his leg, finally getting the friction she desperately needed.

She felt him laugh above her along with the hard press of his cock against her ass. "So I take it you feel well enough for this sort of thing?"

"Maker, Cullen, do I have to sit on you?!"

"Shhhh!" he admonished her while he laughed, tugging affectionately at the shell of her ear with his teeth. Blessedly, he slipped a hand between her grinding heat and his thigh, slipping a finger into her with ease.

Her body relaxed then, a soft, happy mewl leaving her lips when he pressed another digit inside of her. Encouraged by her soft moans and the slickness of his fingers, he shifted, drawing her legs apart with his knees as he positioned himself at her entrance.

Cullen placed a hand on her back, tickling her newly healed flesh with his fingertips before thrusting into her. While all of their encounters were hurried by necessity, this time he seemed to savor her a bit more, dropping kisses to her shoulder and the curve of her spine as his hips snapped firmly against hers.

If Hawke didn't know any better, she would have thought Cullen was apologizing, but she didn't linger long on that speculation. She wanted him much too badly to spend much time on something she would consider later. Breaths growing heavier, she drew his hand into her own and led his fingers to her pearl once again, urging him to touch her there while his cock rutted into her from behind.

Cullen felt her tightening around him, the muscles of her legs trembling beneath him as her body grew closer to release. He relished the feeling, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead to her shoulder while he sought the same end. Focused on his pace and his hand between her legs, he pinched her nub between the pads of his fingers, and she immediately cried out, convulsing around him. Her orgasm crashed over him like a wave, her walls tightening around his cock and forcing him to follow her. Muffling a groan, he bit into her shoulder, emptying himself inside of her.

They remained like that for a moment, catching their breath before Cullen pressed a kiss to the skin he'd just abused, and drew Hawke down onto the bedroll with him.

"Is this how you treat all of your prisoners?" she mumbled sleepily, curling up against his side as she echoed the question she'd asked him back on the Storm Coast.

"Only the insufferable ones."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, Hawke felt uncertain about where she stood with Cullen, but with red lyrium popping up everywhere like fresh spring flowers her feelings would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone! <3 I had to finish Enduring Knight before school got really intense, but I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Thanks for reading!

Her lips slid down to the head of his cock where she looked up at him, her beautiful eyes holding his gaze as she laughed around him and worked her way back up his length. He bucked his hips against her, burying himself further inside her mouth.

Maker, he was so close. It’d been too long.

After the incident that lead to Hawke’s punishment, the Champion had been under constant scrutiny from the rest of Cullen’s men. While they didn’t know that Marian was indeed the same mage from Kirkwall that’d more or less a hand in the fate of the Chantry there, they did know she had a fair amount of sway with their commander and that, obviously, was thought provoking. As a result of her heightened visibility, both Marian and Cullen had decided to keep their intimate encounters to a minimum.

Obviously, that plan had gone to the Black City the very moment they found themselves alone.

Hawke’s nails bit into the flesh of his thighs through the leather of his trousers where she gripped him for balance, drawing his focus back to her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock. He withdrew, giving her room to breathe as his grip on the tangle of dark hair atop her head loosened considerably. Gently, in rather stark contrast to what they’d just been doing, his fingers brushed through her hair and over the curve of her cheek.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, capable of sounding both sincere and a little teasing even as her lips brushed along his length, her eyes glancing searchingly up at his.

Cullen had a great many things on his mind at that moment. Nevertheless, he would enjoy her for the short while he had her and, bending to hook his arms beneath hers to draw her up along the length of his body, make sure this encounter would tide them over for a while yet.

Hawke sighed against his throat while one of his hands splayed across her ass, the other soon moving to follow suit. Together they held her firmly against him, and he wasted no time in beginning to tease her with the steady rock of his hips against her clothed heat.

“Knight Commander!”

Cullen let out a frustrated groan against her shoulder at the call, fingers flexing against her soft, pliant backside before he reluctantly set her on her feet. He was pleased to see she looked about as aggravated as he felt, and after lacing up his straining cock inside his trousers, he moved to answer.

“Here!” he called, though made no move to seek out the voice that was calling them from the direction of camp. Instead his eyes followed Marian’s fingers as she righted her clothing, ensuring every hair was in place before she smirked up at him.

“Another time?” she whispered, teasingly drawing a single finger up the obvious bulge in his trousers.

He hummed at the contact, a deep rumbling sound that made her toes curl. “I’ll find you.”

“There you are, ser!”

They broke apart, looking as if they had been merely conducting a private conversation instead of being a hair’s breadth away from tearing each other’s clothes off.

“What is it?” Cullen prompted, crossing his arms over his chest to keep his hands to himself and not all over Marian.

It was a damn sight harder than one would expect.

The soldier had explained there had been some trouble with one of their supply convoys. The arriving group of Templars had been late, and had apparently just stumbled into camp with a great many wounded, and several others missing.

“It’s the stench of magic about it, ser,” the man spoke, eyes flicking momentarily to Hawke and the staff strapped to her back. “Some…” The man licked his lips nervously. “Some don’t look right, either.”

“Take me to them, then. I’ll call on Brinn and see if there’s anything to be done.” Cullen replied, ignoring the veiled look of uncertainty that passed between this man and Hawke. He imagined a great many of his troops felt this way around her, but the danger had never affected him in such a manner.

In fact, it’d always served to turn him on.

Perhaps that was the reason so many years ago when he’d first met Hawke that he knew he had to have her. Danger, exciting and wild moved around her like the very air she breathed, and it was a small wonder Cullen had managed to go as long as he had without her in his bed.

Duty came first however, as much as he would prefer it was Marian instead.

The soldier turned to lead him to the injured men, and Cullen took the opportunity to slip a hand down his pants and pull his still-throbbing member upright, masking his condition rather than allowing his rather obvious length to hang noticeably against his pant leg. His eyes shifted toward Hawke, who was unrepentant in her silent laughter at his expense.

Oh, he’d show her. Later. Now he had a mess to deal with.

When he had finally laid eyes upon the men who’d stumbled into camp, all thoughts of returning Hawke’s sexual favors vanished. It was patently obvious something had gone very wrong on their journey west, for he had never seen men in such condition, with such strange anomalies jutting out from their bodies.

He murmured to a nearby recruit, ordering him to seek out Brinn and to find Hawke if she was about.

With soldiers milling about, curious to see their commander’s take on the situation, Cullen knelt beside the worst of the Templars. There was a song, surprising with its gentle subtlety in the back of his mind, and it was one he knew well, though perhaps a bit twisted. Lyrium, but wrong. His gloved hand reached out, fingertips brushing against the red, crystalline protrusions on the man’s skin.

“Shit.”

“This is red lyrium, just like the stuff back in Kirkwall.” Cullen observed, withdrawing his hand from the soldier and rising to his feet as he looked over his shoulder at Marian, who had only just arrived. They’d dealt with this problem before, and it seemed some of his Order hadn’t learned from Meredith’s mistakes. Maker, if all the Templars in Therinfal had taken this brand of lyrium, then surely the keep would be…”Connal!”

“Ser?”

The young soldier dropped his heels together and straightened his spine in a salute, his eyes staring ahead and passed Cullen as the commander addressed him.

“Gather a group of scouts and find out where these men came from. Don’t engage any hostiles, I just need to know from which direction we might expect a conflict.”

Connal nodded. “Ser,” then immediately set about the task he’d been given. Meanwhile, Cullen cast a critical eye about the injured, a worry in the back of his mind raising the question of how prudent it would be to put them down. Red lyrium, as far as he knew, was not something one could cure. Like regular lyrium, its effects spread throughout the body, slithering and burrowing its way into a person so deeply that the sharpest knife could not cut out its song. These men, would they become the same mindless killer as Meredith - willing to sacrifice their humanity to serve an ideal?

He blew out a sigh from his nose, hovering on the precipice of giving the order to end their suffering when Hawke voiced the option.

“We should get rid of them before they come to. If they’re anything like before, it’ll be a problem.”

Cullen was half-way through a nod of agreement when a soldier protested the idea, balking at the notion of killing his comrades.

“A problem? And what do you know, mage? You’re a stranger here, and while I don’t have any hard feelings for your kind, I find it suspicious that you would be so quick to kill a group of Templars for simply falling ill.”

Cullen could see Hawke grinding her teeth out of the corner of his eye, but exasperated as she was at the man’s assumption, she held her caustic remarks in check.

“They haven’t “fallen ill”. Red lyrium is a disease, incurable, and it makes men go mad. I’ve had a lot of experience with it, and let me tell you that I am not saying this lightly. These men should be put down - for themselves and for everyone else here.”

“Put them down? Like dogs?!”

“Enough!” Cullen interrupted, preventing the argument from escalating into something else. While he agreed with Hawke, he could understand his men’s hesitation. He’d taken them away from Therinfal before the discussion of widespread use of  red lyrium officially began. As such, his soldiers had very little idea of what the Blighted substance really was, and just how dangerous its effects could be. Cullen had hoped to spare them the lure of it, but it seemed their superiors were eager to spread the tainted stuff to even their most remote encampments. For all that, Cullen truly believed something terrible had happened at Therinfal, and he was torn between hurrying back to help correct whatever had gone wrong, and running away as fast as his legs could carry him. “We wait until Connal returns with his report. Until then, I will assign guards for the afflicted. No one else is to come near here.”

He saw Hawke’s eyes widen in incredulity. “You can’t possib-!”

“I said enough,” he growled, enunciating each word with biting clarity.

Hawke huffed in defiance, but said nothing to challenge him, and for that he was silently grateful. They’d enough eyes on them already.

* * *

 

When Connal and his men had returned later that night, they brought news Cullen was anticipating with a hard knot of dread twisting in his gut.

Mindless beasts, once Templars, prowled around the caravan. They slaughtered everything from nugs to bears - heedless of injury, and thirsty for blood. Something had to be done about them, clearly, though he was loathe to risk his men around the stuff, and his decision pending Connal’s report about their sick charges would not win him many favors either. It hardly mattered. He was their commanding officer, after all, but he was well aware of the discord from few seeds of doubt and resentment could grow.

Maker, nothing was going to be simple about this.

Running his gloved hands down his face, Cullen pushed up from the chair seated behind his small, portable desk and made his way to the closed off section of camp where the lyrium infected men lay. Their groans and small whimpers of discomfort called to something in him, and yet he shut it out, trampling his desire to help and instead fostering the need to protect those that remained. He called to his guards, giving the order with a firm voice, tightened with resignation at the awful, necessary act.

He made himself do it; he watched as his men set to their task and quietly ended the lives of their brothers and sisters. He knew they might have even recognized some of their faces as they committed the afflicted souls to the Maker, and forced himself to face the sadness of it.

Some may have seen it as foolish: his desire to dwell on the things he could not change and the necessary, brutal aspects of being in command. However, he felt it made him grounded and more in touch with his men. He felt what they felt, suffered as they suffered, and in that he was able to look at them from the perspective of an equal, and not just an officer dictating orders as he wished without careful thought and purpose.

He would not become another Meredith. He would not allow it.

Cullen felt more than saw Marian step up just behind him, remaining respectful of his space even as curiosity simmered beneath her skin. Everything about Hawke was intense, heated, and burning. There were times, in his office back at the Gallows while he tossed sleeplessly about in his bed, when he would watch his single candle burn low at his bedside and liken the bright, flickering flame to what he knew of Marian Hawke. She was constant, but unique; a flame flickering to and fro in the breeze and yet she never dimmed. She burned, dangerous to a reckless touch, but a warm caress to a quick and careful brush of fingers. Hawke was like fire, and the more he began to look at her over the years - truly see her - the harder it became to look away.

“You’re leaving for the site of the attack?” she asked, shifting beneath the direct quality of his gaze as he looked at her.

Something moved there. It wasn’t lust or desire. it wasn’t anger or that exasperated expression Cullen had perfected since knowing her. There was something else, Hawke thought, something that she couldn’t rightly define.

It damn near made her cagey.

“As soon as they’re done,” he replied, inclining his head toward the unfortunate souls nearby, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I’m coming.”

The statement took him by surprise, and he was more so startled by the notion that he didn’t want her to accompany him. Of course he knew she was more than capable of handling herself, she could hold her own against him, after all. Still, he was uneased by the inevitable proximity of her and those things Connal described. She was just one mage, and those creatures had once been Templars. Were they able to still call upon their Maker-gifted abilities, they could do a fair amount of damage to anyone, let alone a mage to whom they were most dangerous.

“No.” The instant he said it, he knew he should have perhaps phrased the refusal more kindly. As it was, she was now eying him like an angry bronto ready to charge.

“Why not? I have experience with red lyrium. Shit, I’m practically the reason it exists!”

He held his hands out in a small supplicatory gesture, trying to make his point without raising his voice and matching her anger. Marian had always known just how to make his blood run hot. “I need you here to deal with this,” he said, drawing her attention once again to the dead. “You know how to dispose of it. I don’t have the time to pay full attention to both, so I will go to the caravan and the site of the attack, and you will remain here and see that no one gets into contact with the lyrium in those bodies.”

She glared at him, curling her lip at his bullshit excuse, but she also couldn’t argue his logic. He was right. Someone who knew how to deal with a red lyrium-addled body needed to be present, but she couldn’t hamper her desire to go with him to the source of this madness. She’d never admit it aloud, but Hawke felt uneasy letting him go.

It was ridiculous, of course, Cullen had held his own so far without any input from her.

Marian’s fist clenched once, twice, and finally she shook her fingers free of the tension and resigned herself to Cullen’s suggestion - she’d never in a million years let him order her about when there was no one else around. “Fine.”

He seemed relieved that she hadn't pressed her point, and nodded smartly before heading off to find Connal and his scouts, who would then lead him and several more soldiers to the caravan’s location, and subsequently the remainder of the Templar beasts.

* * *

 

Hawke had completed her task only with the help of the men Cullen had sent to dispatch the ailing Templars before he’d gone. She anticipated some resistance to her task. Burning bodies was not always seen as an appropriate method of burial among knights, but thankfully one of their number had stepped in, likening the pyre she’d made to that of Andraste’s, and said that it was an honor for these brave men to perish in such a similar way to their beloved prophet.

It was a complete load of horse shit, but she’d take whatever she could in order for these soldiers to cooperate.

When the burning was done and the fire had chilled, Hawke sifted through the char and ash, carefully extracting the lyrium crystals from what remained of the bodies and stuffing them into a bag. She’d worn gloves, and the bag she’d pilfered from Brinn had been stuffed full of wool and wrapped in canvas before she’d trekked a long way from camp and buried the damn thing, the frighteningly beautiful song of the lyrium muffled with each pile of dirt she’d thrown on top of it.

When she returned to the camp she was exhausted, and the sky was beginning to gray with the first rays of light shining over the horizon.

So much for sleep, she grumbled hotly, deciding to head toward Cullen’s tent. He wasn’t around, and she figured he owed her a good night’s rest on his cot instead of her less-than-comfy bedroll on the cold ground. She was, by no means, spoiled enough to turn her nose up at a simple bedroll, but show her anyone who would refuse a warm, raised bed in favor of a thin layer of lumpy furs draped over a haphazard assortment of sharp rocks, and she’d kick em in the arse for being so stupid.

Approaching from the back, as to keep the others from seeing her slip into their commander’s tent, Hawke lifted the wax-hardened canvas from the ground and wiggled inside, finding insulated relief from the chilly bite of the morning air. She did not expect to find Cullen, eyes blurred from heavy sleep, sitting up to discover just who had found their way into his tent.

“It’s just me,” Marian whispered, lifting her hands and offering him a small smile. Cullen’s hand relaxed on the hilt of his sword, which he made a point of sleeping with, and then he set it away altogether.

“You finished?” he asked, clearing his throat of the raspy quality to his voice.

“Yes, it’s done. How was...everything?” She wasn’t quite sure what to call his small expedition. Cullen didn’t reply. He simply lay back down on his furs, and extended his nearest hand out to her.

“Come here.”

Marian complied, shrugging out of her bulky leather armor. She’d set it away atop his desk, and then turned back toward the cot to take his hand and slide beneath the covers beside him. He was mostly dressed as well, letting her know that he was just as exhausted as she was.

“That bad, hmm?” she spoke softly, surprised when he turned on his side to face her fully, and draw her into his arms.

Cullen breathed deeply, his forehead pressed to her shoulder, cradling her against him. Their bodies were so close together that Hawke could feel the hard planes of his stomach shifting against hers with each breath, and she suddenly wondered what could possibly have put him in such a mood.

Cullen was considerate, yes, and had shown as much through the entirety of their association, but affection was something that was rarer. Since she’d run into his men on the Storm Coast, Marian had puzzled over his change in demeanor, finding him far softer, gentler even, when they came together.

In Kirkwall they’d begun as unwitting allies, growing more accustomed to one another when they would cross paths on assignments and jobs, or simply passing each other on the street. Eventually their tentative alliance became friendship, and then began the slow, brilliantly tortuous descent into something more. They had found each other physically attractive from the first, that much was obvious, but after Hawke had felled the Arishok - when she’d emerged from the Viscount’s keep covered in gore and holding her innards in place - she’d looked up and seen Cullen watching her in a way that had made her completely forget how battered she was. Injuries be damned, she wanted him, and she could see it reflected in his eyes along with a healthy dose of...something else.

When she’d recovered, she’d been on a simple ingredient run to the Gallows for Anders when she had been waylaid by the knight captain. He’d asked her, a bit awkwardly, how she fared, and when she’d replied that she had made a full recovery, he tugged her into a nearby alcove away from prying eyes and pressed her bodily against the stone. Cullen had let her feel the hard, rigid length of him, advertising his want for her plainly while his lips found her neck, and his teeth had passed with a sharp nip over her jaw.

Friends, Hawke knew, and as Isabela would say, they had benefits - a whole cargo load of them, in fact. They’d never talked about more, and Marian had never asked. She had been entirely content with how things were between them.

It’d gone on for years until she’d left, and now that they’d found one another again, in a different context, Marian wasn’t so certain of what they really were any longer.

Friends no longer seemed to adequately define their relationship, and under the secure, sure pressure of his embrace, she dared to think that perhaps Cullen felt the same.

“It was bad,” he spoke against her shoulder, words partly muffled by the linen shirt she wore as he answered her earlier question.

“What happened?”

He didn’t reply for a moment, then pulled just far enough away to look at her. “Later. For now, may I just hold you?”

His question took her by surprise, but she found herself nodding in confirmation anyway. His iron grip returned to her, and Cullen tucked his head in the crook of her shoulder, placing a series of small kisses there.

“Thank you, Marian,” he breathed, and she wound her arms around his shoulders and held him to her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She always loved it when someone would mention how much more attractive Cullen's scar made him. First, they had no idea what it really meant to her. Second, they'd die of embarrassment if they did.

The next morning saw Cullen readying to brief his men on what they discovered at the ruined caravan. Arriving at the encampment had been easily achieved, but upon arrival they’d been ambushed by several assassins. It seem that although the red lyrium twisted their bodies and minds, his brothers and sisters retained full physical capability and skill. In fact, he’d underestimated their strength so thoroughly he’d have nearly been gutted were it not for the small group of men who’d come to their rescue.

They were Templars as well, it turned out. After the battle the leader of their small brigade had explained to Cullen that their number was once part of the caravan, and they’d only escaped with their lives because they’d had to trail behind the main party due to an injury. The leader’s name was Rylen, and Cullen found he and this man were of a like mind, including their immense dislike for red lyrium. Last night, he’d shown Rylen and his number to their spare supplies, offering them tents and food as Brinn had seen to their numerous injuries. Some were superficial, other were not.

While finding Rylen and his men alive had certainly been a benefit to seeking out the Caravan’s location, Cullen’s discoveries put him in a precarious position. He no longer trusted his superiors at Therinfal to do the right thing by him or his men, and thus he’d begun to imagine ways to break away from the Order. How could one go about such a venture, though, when one commanded a large unit of such Templars?

Obviously he needed to give them a choice, he thought, but first he would need to explain their position.

“So?” murmured Hawke as she sat on the edge of his cot, running fingers through her hair. Her eyes followed him around the tent, watching him bend to retrieve a glove he’d thrown haphazardly away the night before.

“I’ve leaving the Order, for good this time. I…” Cullen sighed, closing his eyes in an effort to make the explanation easier. It was still difficult enough admitting this to himself, let alone Hawke. “I just can’t do it anymore. I realize that my superiors have done something horrible, and are willing to sacrifice all of us to see to their ends, and perhaps all of Thedas. It’s not something I can abide, and so I will try to stop it however I can.”

Hawke hesitated a moment, letting him vent before she spoke. “Cullen, remember what I said about the Divine? The Right Hand is looking for someone of your caliber. How better to stop this insanity than to work with the very person who can change your Order. They have the power.”

He turned to look at her, tugging his gauntlet onto his fingers while he mulled over her suggestion. He’d given it some thought, but the possibility of ever being influential enough to retain the position gnawed at him. He simply didn’t know what this Inquisition was to be, and that made him hesitant.

“You’ve spoken to your friend?” he asked, hoping, perhaps, that using this Inquisition to transition into a life of his own - a life unbound by the tresspasses of the Order - would work for him. He’d seen enough suffering. He didn’t want to be a part of it any longer.

Marian nodded, smiling a little privately to herself. “I mentioned you, of course, and Varric immediately spoke to the Right Hand, her name’s Cassandra, by the way, about you. She knows of you, and apparently she believes you’d be worth the effort of tracking down.”

Cullen hummed thoughtfully, vacillating between jumping on the offer and holding back. He had to take care of his soldiers, first and foremost. He couldn’t just leave them to their own devices when his superiors would feed them to the proverbial wolves.

“I would need assurance that my soldiers will be well taken care of - the ones that choose to remain with me, that is.”

“I’m sure it would be fine, but I take your point. I’ll have you post another letter then, before we break camp?”

Cullen nodded, shrugging on his hulking fur mantle. “Of course.”

His amber eyes found her own, holding her gaze for a long moment before he sighed again. “I’m going to do explain what happened last night, if you’d like to come along.” The corner of his mouth quirked up at that. “Might want to dress first, though.”

Hawke snorted, tugging on the leggings Cullen had so thoroughly divested her of earlier that morning. If there was one constant thing about the commander, it was that he could always be relied upon to wake up happy.

* * *

 

“You can’t be serious!”

Hawke had expected this to happen. As open and honest as Cullen was with his men, what he told them was a bitter pill to swallow. The knowledge that their superiors wished to harm them; to use them in such a way was unthinkable for some, though not surprising in the least to her. What made her feel sorry for them was what made her feel sorry for Cullen. These men, twisted and stupid as some were wont to be, pledged their lives to serve something greater. What did they have now, that their purpose no longer aligned with their own feelings on the matter?

“I’m very serious,” Cullen replied evenly. Even amid the cries of surprise and incredulity he remained calm and collected. Her head would probably explode if she tried to mimic his sensibility for a whole five seconds.

“Evidence from the caravan was clear in that those at Therinfal wish us to take red lyrium despite the dangers it poses, and they were willing to send us an entire regiment of infected men and women to force the issue,” Cullen explained.

“You don’t know that!” Another man groused, folding his arms over his armored chest.

“Your commander has the truth of it.” One man stepped forward, and Hawke recognized him as the man Cullen had called Rylen.

They’d spoken briefly before he called the meeting to order, but Hawke had been instructed to remain as inconspicuous as possible, for Cullen feared simply seeing her in the area during the discussion might spark an inquiry of her involvement in all of this. Though he wanted her to be abreast of the issue, he also didn’t want her to become an unnecessary target for an angry Templar.

“I was part of the caravan bringing the lyrium to your unit. I had no notion the contents were of a dangerous nature until my friends began to turn before my eyes. Trust your commander when he says nothing good will come of this kind of Lyrium, and that your dependence on Therinfal for instruction must be severed.”

Cullen inclined his head to Rylen, silently thanking him for his input before he said, “With this in mind, I will ask only those that wish to accompany me to travel to the White Spire. We will receive orders there on what to do about this.”

“Val Royeaux?” one man sneered, sauntering up to the front of the group, his crooked nose still black and blue from where Hawke had struck him days before. “You want us to trek all the way to Orlais for orders, just because you’re afraid of a few degenerate Templars?”

“Red lyrium is dangerous,” Cullen growled, voice tight with frustration.

Who’d let this idiot out of his village, anyway?

“Says you. We know you’ve been itching to get away from the Order. You’ve been too lenient with punishments, you’re rarely seen at the morning Chant, and we all know you’re fucking that mage.”

Cullen said nothing. He simply stared ahead at the man as he railed, arms folded over his breast plate with a rather enviable air of indifference.

Hawke was pretty much incapable of keeping her own mouth shut.

“Oh piss off! That has nothing to do with Templars dying from this lyrium shit.” She snarled, flipping the bird while she stalked forward and away from where Cullen had told her explicitly not to move.

She could practically hear the Knight Commander rolling his eyes in exasperation - and cursing at her - though neither his eyes nor his lips were moving.

“So far we haven’t seen anyone die, just the men the commander has ordered killed.” The slimey, bruised little creton paced a small track back and forth, though he didn’t get any nearer to Hawke, who was now standing a few feet in front of Cullen, glaring down her nose at the man. “And what of you, mage? The commander would never make such a decision lightly, and yet since you’ve come into our fold he’s changed. I daresay he’s in thrall to you!”

Cullen’s upper lip curled in a silent snarl and the mere mention of his being bound to a blood mage, and Hawke couldn’t really help that her fist, once again, found that piece of shit’s nose a rather lovely place to be.

“Bitch!” He stumbled backward, clutching at his bleeding face and looking frantically around for help. A few soldiers protested her treatment of him, but more seemed to distance themselves, though Hawke didn’t really know if they wanted away from her or the creep who would dare make such an accusation.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before. Try something new for once.”

She’d almost done it, she was almost proud of herself for hitting him once and then removing herself from the situation. She didn’t take into account that he would smite her - though in hindsight that was a really stupid oversight on her part - and draw his weapon. Still reeling from the attack, Hawke had barely enough coordination to bring her staff up to block him, but she didn’t need to worry for long. The pressure of her aggressor’s blade suddenly lifted from her aching arms as he was bodily thrown back onto his ass, Cullen standing over him with shield in hand while Rylen came forward to steady her.

“You’re mighty terrifying for a mage. Never seen one of your like standing after a smite like that,” the captain commented quietly to her. Hawke simply grunted an unladylike reply most people would have found wholly offensive, but Rylen chuckled quietly, drawing her back from the simpering little shit rolling around and groaning after Cullen’s shield bash.

“You have two options!” Cullen bellowed, his ire evident in his voice, “You leave with me and continue to perform your duty of protecting all people of Thedas from any threat, or you can stay here with him,” he pointed to the man on the ground, “and become fodder for the red Templars!”

With that he simply swung his shield onto his back and turned, striding angrily passed Rylen and Hawke, and toward an awaiting supply-leaden cart. Many of the officers, who had stood silent during the exchange were quick to follow. Rylen and Hawke, as best she could, walked after him as well. Frankly, she was surprised at just how many Templars Cullen had convinced enough to come with them.

He would make an excellent commander for the Inquisition.

* * *

 

Three days later and they were still getting rained on, still soaked down to their smalls in chaffing leathers and cold linen shirts, but they’d finally arrived in Crestwood. Overall morale seemed high, and the remaining Templars seemed much more comfortable around Marian now that those with more “traditional” views on mages had gone ahead and stayed behind. While she had initially come into their presence as a prisoner, pretty much everyone understood that she didn’t fill that role, and never really had. In fact, the one person who would flat out deny that she’d pretty much been a free agent for them since the beginning would be Cullen himself.

So it was that she was allowed to wander off on her own and perform tasks no legitimate prisoner would be allowed to even do - such as lighting a fire. She ignited several large blazes around camp despite the wet and cold, receiving thanks from the shivering soldiers as they too went about their own tasks.

Four day passed without incident, but four days also passed without Marian ever getting Cullen alone. He’d more or less set himself apart from her since he and some of his men had gone different ways. He no longer sought her out at night, and every time she tried to speak to him something else became an immediate concern.

She was angry with him at first; angry that he would ignore her in such a childish fashion. Though as more time passed, her anger dissolved into something softer and more weak and timid than she dared admit. She was afraid, she knew. She was afraid she’d done something wrong that had irreparably damaged their rapport, but she did not know for the life of her what it was she could have possibly done for him to distance himself so. Cullen was usually so direct with what pleased him and what didn’t that this sudden avoidance of her was entirely uncharacteristic.

Hating the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that was becoming all too familiar, Hawke gathered her belongings and set off for the nearby river. While the rain was certainly keeping her wet, it was certainly not keeping her clean, and perhaps scrubbing all the muck and grime from her skin would help her feel better, though she knew the small feeling of relief would be brief and unsatisfying in the wake of her worry.

She made mention to Brinn where she was going, and quickly made her way to the riverbank. She meandered along the slick, muddy bank for a time, keen on putting a fair bit of distance between herself and the camp proper. Marian came upon a suitable bathing spot within just a few minute’s time, and eagerly began to strip out of her smelly leathers.

There was a large, flat rock just partially submerged within the lazy current, and it was there she unwrapped her soap and began to scrub her clothing down. There wasn’t much to be done about her armor, save to hang it up on a tree limb over a small fire to dry. At least some of her clothing wouldn’t reek.

When she had finished scrubbing the linen of her shirt, and jacket, she set them up with her armor and then headed back into the river to wash herself. She scrubbed for an almost inordinate amount of time before tossing the soap on top of the rock and dunking beneath the surface. When she’d reemerged, she tipped onto her back and stared at the sky, her long, dark hair spreading out around her as she extended her limbs and let her body be buoyed to the surface.

Floating as she was in the river, she thought she’d never been so relaxed, and didn’t think much on it when she closed her eyes and let the current carry her slowly downriver. She was a strong swimmer, after all, and letting go of herself for a time was a blessedly cathartic experience after all the worrying she’d been doing.

Marian floated languidly, listening to the quiet sounds of the river. Suddenly, she collided with something solid, and was swept beneath the surface. She at once became entangled with whatever she’d encountered, and pushed against the solid mass with all her might. Alarmingly, it moved, and seemed to slide bodily around her, banding across her hips and just beneath her breasts.

Fuck, she thought, I’m going to be taken out by a snake! A Blighted serpent was going to be the end of her!

Hawke thought of calling on her magic, but realized with some dismay that neither lightning, fire, nor ice would assist her in the water as she was.

It moved again, and she thrashed wildly, fingers dragging across the bottom of the river. She strained to remain there, digging and clawing at the riverbed until she found exactly what she needed. A rock, heavy and sharp-edged was gripped tightly between her fingers, and she mustered all of her energy to twist around and strike the beast. Abruptly, it fell away, and she kicked toward the surface, but it ensnared her once more. She kicked out, landing a decent blow, but it caught about her opposite leg. Her lungs were fit to burst, burning with the ache for air.

Marian’s panic intensified when something clamped firmly about each of her arms and dragged her upward.

Coughing and sputtering as she broke the surface, and she attempted to call for help, managing only a breathless squeak before a hand descended over her mouth, then, shockingly, her soft naked form molded against hardened muscle.

“Hey! Calm down!” he hissed in warning, a warm voice she would know anywhere.

If there was ever a moment Marian Hawke chose to be religious, it would be then that she thanked Maker, if the ass was even listening to someone like her, that Cullen had saved her from that Blighted river monster.

“Holy-” her voice caught, and she coughed out some of the water she’d swallowed. “Thank you,” Marian breathed.

Cullen took a moment to scan the water, then the shore, and then drew her along with him to where the water was shallow enough to see the bottom. Hawke offered no resistance, thoroughly tried from her scuffle with the river monster fish serpent...thing.

“You’re alright?” Cullen asked, holding her upright as she continued to heave and gasp for air.

Marian looked about, startled by the realization of just how far she’d drifted. She couldn’t even make out her fire on the bank.

“Yeah,” she coughed. “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

She glanced downward to where she was crushed against him in his supportive hold, blinking in confusion a moment when she discovered his clothed hip beneath her hand, and her leg entwined with his. She squirmed, intending to put some distance between them and stand on her own two feet, but his grip held firm and she relented.

“What were you doing out here?”

She frowned, perplexed by his question. What did he think she was doing? “Bathing. I reeked like a dead nug three days gone.”

“Oh.”

Her frown deepened. Damn, was Cullen blushing?

“What did you think I was doing?” Another cough. “I certainly wasn’t fishing.”

A small, exasperated huff blew warm air across her cheek. “I had thought you’d gone. You said you needed to speak with someone here.”

“I do,” she said slowly, eyes trying to search his but he was being damn cagey about looking at her. That was never a problem Cullen had, at least with her. In fact, as far as she knew, he liked looking at her eyes - especially when he was fucking her. “But I was going to see if you wanted to come along with me. Regardless, if I were to leave, I would say goodbye.”

“Right, I apologize,” he ducked his head a moment.

Alright, now she was really worried. Who was this man, and what had he done with her friend? Tapping his shoulder, Hawke got his attention long enough to say. “You can, ah, put me down now. I think I’ve recovered enough to stand.”

There was a hesitation there, a brief warmth swimming in the depths of his eyes before he crushed her to him, drawing a small, surprised squeak from Hawke.

“It’s foolish. I’m foolish, but I thought you’d gone.”

“Well I’m here,” she replied, dismayed by this sudden and strange show of emotion.

“So you are, Marian.” His grip relaxed as he drew back, cupping her face between his palms.

“And thankfully you haven’t become fish bait.”

She scrunched her nose at him. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

He smiled, thumbs brushing across her cheeks, tilting her head just a hair backward. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Cullen’s honeyed gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips and back again. At the small motion Hawke felt her stomach flutter, her body anticipating something she’d never before received from him - something she hadn’t really known she wanted before spending these last few weeks with him.

Finally he caved, mouth descending upon hers as if he were a man starved and she were the feast.

Hawke’s lips parted beneath the assault, and Cullen’s tongue swept into her mouth seeking to know more of her in a way he’d never dared. As he deepened the kiss, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him as she answered his fevered request for more.

Time ceased its passage. There was neither mage nor Templar. There were no kings with their decrees, knight with their honor, nor lands, titles, or duties.

Cullen splayed his hands over her hips, pressing her to him. Marian felt the solid brand of his passion against her naked thigh even through his clothing.

His mouth left her, trailing kisses down her neck and all the way down to her chest as he took one pert nipple into his mouth. Hawke released a happy whimper as his tongue passed over her breast, hot shivers of pleasure coursing through her body and ending straight between her thighs.

His mouth moved back up to hers, biting, nipping and sucking around her pants and sighs, moving his hand down to her heat where she cried out for his touch. She eagerly rubbed herself against him, and it was all Cullen could do to withdraw his touch from her and loosen the ties of his trousers.

Her one hand followed his, drawing him out and stroking his length expertly while she laid siege to his mouth once more. Kissing - like this, like lovers - was so new and so wonderful she thought she could simply kiss him for eternity. He must’ve felt much the same, because when his mouth wasn’t searching for hers, he ran his lips over her neck, dropping sweet kisses along her hairline and down the bridge of her nose as she stroked him.

Marian shifted, gripping his hips between her knees as she rose up, and then descended down upon him, taking him into her with a needy little shudder.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed against the shell of her ear, thrusting his hips to seat himself fully inside of her, “you’re so perfect.”

The weight of his words alone caused her skin to prickle with excitement, and when he moved against her once more she wound her fingers up into the curls of his hair and gripped hard.

Cullen’s muscles bunched and surged beneath and against her with each movement, and her thighs, slicked with sweat and her own arousal, tightened against his hips. They kissed every moment they could, between breaths, muttered words of praise, rough bites and tender brushes.

When Cullen’s hips stuttered, when he became close, he freed a hand to drift between Hawke’s legs, brushing the pad of one finger against her full sex and the small pearl at the very top. She drew in a shaky breath at first, and it dissolved into a moan as he began to circle the digit around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Their lips met again, his pace quickened, and when she finally reached the peak of her pleasure she bit down, hard, tasting his blood in her mouth as she whimpered and bucked against him. A soft curse, coupled with the tightening of his iron grip around her waist signaled his own release.

When they both managed to rouse themselves from the hazy aftermath of their lovemaking, Hawke pulled away from him, tongue darting out to taste the coppery tang of his blood on her lips a little guiltily as she surveyed the damage she’d done.

“Cullen, crap, I’m sorry.” she reached out to touch him, but he stayed her hand with his own, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse, but I’ll have Brinn take a look at it when we return to camp.”

Marian didn’t look convinced, so Cullen leaned forward to remedy her frown with another kiss, soft and gentle and everything he wasn’t when strapped into all of his Templar armor.

“Besides,” he continued, “what’s another scar, anyway?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hated leaving, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another story drawn to a close. :) Thanks for reading everyone!

As it turned out, giant, monstrous catfish that dragged hapless swimmers underwater and drowned them was not an uncommon occurrence in this region of Ferelden - or so she was told by Brinn, after the healer had seen to Cullen's lip.

Hawke would never go swimming in or around Crestwood  _ever_  again.

The Champion of Kirkwall eyed the beast from across the camp as it rotated on its spit, one of the Templar Knights having caught the animal by chance just a few hours after her frightening and embarrassing encounter with the damned thing. If Varric ever caught wind of her nearly being drowned by a bloody fish, the tale would be featured in every single print of Tale of the Champion from Kirkwall to Val Royeaux. Of course, it didn't help that Cullen had barely contained his snort of laughter at seeing the thing responsible for the state he'd found her in.

Marian watched Cullen from her seat near a second fire where Brinn and several of the Templars sat to warm themselves, preparing to turn in for the night, eying him as he moved further into camp. The commander was forever attentive to the needs of his people - perhaps doubly so now that this little merry band had made an official split from the rebel Red Templars. She looked around once more, a weighty feeling of sadness pressing against her chest.

She needed to leave, but knew she simply couldn't disappear from this place.

Rising from her seat, Hawke brushed off her leathers and jogged after Cullen, finally catching up to him near the center of camp where the number of tents were greatest, pressing in on each other in neat little columns and rows.

"Cullen?"

He turned to regard her with a small smile, earlier mirth at her expense with that stupid fish obviously not forgotten. The warmth in his eyes extended far beyond good humor, however, and Marian felt herself flush from the tips of her toes to the tops of her ears in response. Maker, it should be illegal to look at someone like that.

He paused a beat, obviously knowing how he was affecting her, and caring not one whit about it. Slowly, very slowly, his honey-colored eyes traveled from her face down to her hips and back again, lingering a moment on the gentle curve of her breasts before settling back on her eyes.

"Marian."

He spoke her name just above a whisper, the low rumble that resonated within his chest causing her toes to curl within her boots and a familiar shock of heat to blossom between her legs.

Would it be too obvious if she just threw herself at him here, now, while all of his men milled about around them?

Sparing a glance beyond Cullen's plated shoulders, she decided so. There were far too many men about, and while they had all pretty much decided that while she was a mage, she was of no harm to them, they did not need to know that she was fucking their commander seven ways from Sunday and loving every moment of it.

"How much longer do you plan to camp near the village?" she asked, scowling at a fat drop of water that fell out of the sky and directly onto her nose.

The air of suggestive warmth that radiated around Cullen seemed to lessen, enough so that she could see him adopting his Knight Commander persona before her eyes.

"We will need to leave tomorrow morning if we're to keep up with our supplies on our way to Val Royeaux. We may hunt when we have the opportunity, but I'd rather not spare the time to begin running out of food if I can help it." He stopped speaking, eyes searching hers in a way that had her forgetting all about jumping his lovely bones. "I take it you will not be joining us."

Marian shook her head once, affirming that he was correct. While she would have liked to remain on the road with him - his company a balm to her lonely soul - she had work to do, and so did he. She'd be damned if she took him away from what his sense of duty demanded. It was part of the reason she respected him so much.

"I have to meet up with Mac Tir like I promised. I'm a behind schedule as is, and I'm not sure how much longer he'll wait for me to show."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow, when your men break camp. I don't think any of them would have an issue with my leaving. All of the pricks you had following you who would would care are far behind us now…"

He tossed his head, seeming not to care to think about those men he'd left behind. While their opinions may have clashed on a great many subjects, Hawke could still see that Cullen felt an immense sense of guilt for what he'd done, though it was the right thing. He probably thought he could save them all, she thought sadly, a little bitterness seeping into that thought. Cullen, ever the honorable, golden hero, finding the good where others could not and giving as many second chances as he had fingers. The Chantry had never given him a break for all his goodness. Perhaps when he arrived in Val Royeaux, they would treat him with the respect he was due.

"Will you stay with me tonight then, if this is the last time?"

Hawke felt her stomach plummet to the ground at his words. "The last time?"

"We don't know when we'll see each other again, or where our paths will take us. I would hope for more, but it seems foolish with the world on the brink of war. Wouldn't it be safe to assume this is the last time we will see one another?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Look, I know you're the king of pessimists, but don't pull that shit on me, okay? I'll be damned if I let  _this_ " she gestured around them to the rain-soaked tents, and then to their feet, boots sunk an inch in mud, "be the last time and place we see one another."

His mouth quirked up in a smile, recent scar making the expression all the more alluring than before.

"As you wish," he replied, some nameless emotion shifting behind his eyes. Cullen hummed, rubbing the backs of his knuckles along his jaw as he regarded her. "You say you and Teyrn Loghain mean to talk about what's going on with the Grey Wardens?"

"That's Warden Loghain, and yes. Something isn't right with them, and I owe him one. The least I can do is look into this."

Cullen nodded, thinking on something a moment, but deciding not to share. "Please be careful when you two ultimately decide to blow something up. For me?"

Hawke scoffed at his worry, covering up her own lingering sadness over having to leave him in the first place. "Please," she said, "I'm a professional."

"Professional messer-upper? Yes." Cullen chuckled at the look of offense that momentarily crossed her features.

Messer-upper? Messer-upper?! That wasn't fearsome sounding at all. Hawke opened her mouth to retort when one of Cullen's men called him over. He turned to look at her with a guilty shug.

Before he moved on, he leaned in to quickly whisper, "I'll see you in my tent tonight."

The following morning was business as usual, at least that was how they had strived to make it seem. Both Cullen and Marian had awoken before first light clinging to the last vestiges of their brief romance before they had to face the new day and the reality of their separation. For both their parts, they had been professional enough so that everything had gone on smoothly, and none of Cullen's unit had noticed Marian's absence until the following day, when miles and miles had separated the Templars from Crestwood.

It had taken two weeks more for Cullen and his men to finally reach Val Royeaux, by which time murmurs of the Conclave Hawke had spoken of briefly began to reach their ears. Upon their arrival at the White Spire, the gathering had been confirmed by the very Seeker Varric had mentioned to Hawke in their correspondence, and the woman, Cassandra, wasted little time in recruiting him into the position of Commander of the Inquisition. Cullen had been resistant at first, not wishing to be thrust into another situation under a power whose motives he did not agree with. Meeting the Divine however, as well as a woman named Josephine and the Left Hand, had gone a long way to improve his opinion of their cause. Peace between mages and Templars. It seemed an impossibility, but the Divine had been clearly motivated to put an end to the suffering, and he could hardly deny the opportunity to be even a small part of a chance for such peace.

Of course, the growing pains the Inquisition had gone through since the time he'd finally agreed to be a part of it were terrible and many. Still, he and his fellow advisors moved forward, and the Inquisitor, recovered from their ordeal at Haven, had stepped cautiously through the halls of Skyhold as they all had tried to decide on their next course of action. Losing Haven had been a blow, but gaining Skyhold…

Its potential was damn near limitless, Cullen had decided.

Like his fellow advisors and the Inquisitor herself, he'd put his head down and gotten to work. The following weeks had passed in a blur. Between training recruits, securing supply lines, and attempting to persuade the rest of his Order to join the Inquisition's cause, Cullen had little time to invest in other matters.

Then there had been the matter of Lyrium.

His hand shook with a slight tremor as the commander swept his mop of curls back over the crown of his head and out of his face. He'd stepped away from the makeshift pulley system to view the large beam settle into place overhead. The large piece of timber had been cut down in the Hinterlands, and moved all the way to Skyhold to support the large iron gate that would keep the fortress secure against any future attacks Corypheus may make against the Inquisition.

He felt sure of this new addition, and proud at the cooperation he saw within the Inquisition's ranks - especially so of the mages and Templars. He hoped that this peace between them would grow, and that it wouldn't end once their common enemy had been dealt with.

He felt the familiar pang of regret and loss ache within his chest at that last thought. Since Kirkwall, everyone had been through so much, and he was glad that, almost a year ago now, he'd taken Hawke's suggestion to heart and sought out this Seeker who wished to speak with him. Without her not-so-subtle urging - Maker, nothing was subtle about Marian - Cullen would have never thought to approach the woman to find yet another way to fulfill his duties as a Templar.

He sighed at the thought of Marian, wondering where she might be right now. Still dealing with the Warden issue, perhaps, but the fact remained that she was not at Skyhold - not with him. That still didn't sit quite right with his pride and desire to protect her, but he reminded himself that Marian could take care well enough on her own without him. It was one of the many reasons he respected her so.

Cullen passed another hand over his face, trailing his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair and to the back of his neck. The sun shone down on Skyhold today with brutal intensity, leaving the Inquisition's laborers and himself in naught but their shirt sleeves.

"Seems I picked a  _fine_  time to arrive," a familiar voice teased the fine hairs at his temple, tickling the shell of his ear with her breath as a pair of hands settled on his shoulders.

He relaxed into the touch, an entire year's worth of worry draining from his body in a single moment as her familiar scent wafted around him, mingling with his own.

"So you have, Hawke," he murmured in reply, turning his head to catch her eye.

She offered him a small smile, her eyes flashing with a suppressed heat even as she stepped away from him, releasing him from her grip. "I have an appointment with the Inquisitor,  _Commander_ , perhaps afterwards we could...catch up?"

Cullen matched her easy smile, his body responding to her even after so long spent apart. "Of course," he said. He glanced pointedly up at his tower, watching in his periphery as she followed his gaze. "I'll be in my office."

Marian had indeed wasted no time in finding him, perhaps even cutting her visit with the Inquisitor short as she breezed into his office, catching him unawares as he stripped his damp shirt over his loose curls. He knew she was there, standing with her back to the door as her eyes raked a burning trail down the length of his body and back up again to meet his eyes.

"Do you even know how to knock?" Cullen asked with a smile, casually walking over to one of the side doors and sliding the deadbolt home.

Marian followed the movement, eyes flashing as he turned around, repeating the action with the opposite lock. "Why bother, when I know I'll get what I want either way?"

Cullen's amber gaze lifted to hers from the lock, muscles in his back shifting gracefully as he turned to walk toward her.

"And what is it you want, Marian?" he asked, steps not slowing as he used the impressive bulk of his body to cage her against the door.

Her breaths came faster now, heart pounding a heady rhythm against her ribcage as she looked up at him through her dark lashes. "I should think that would be obvious," she hedged, fingers reaching behind her to slide the third and final lock into place.

A growl rumbled in his chest at her evasive answer, and as ever, he found the opportunity to be perfectly clear as he leaned forward toward her. Bracing his forearms on either side of her head against the door, Cullen lay the entire length of his body against hers.

"Isn't it?" Marian shifted with a pleasant sigh, widening her stance so that his hips settled perfectly against hers, her thighs caging his own.

Cullen growled again, resting his forehead against hers. "Isn't it what?"

She tilted her head, enough so that the sides of their noses brushed against one another as her lips moved to capture his.

The sound he made vibrated through his chest and into her own, making her toes curl and her hands emerge from behind her to twine around the back of Cullen's neck. She pulled him forward, and though he was already flush against her, he was somehow able to press closer. Cullen nipped at her bottom lip, drawing it out between his teeth slowly as his honeyed eyes met hers.

He released her lip, dropping his head to breathe against her collar. "Isn't is  _what_ , Marian?" To punctuate his question, Cullen rolled his hips against hers, the hard length of him pressing firmly against her belly.

Marian made a soft sound, quiet and wanting, as she cleared her throat to respond. "Obvious that I want you," she managed to clarify, pressing her hips back against his even as she was pinned against the door beneath his heavy weight.

"Mmmmm," he mumbled something against her shoulder, brushing his fingers over her shoulders and down her arms until he clasped both of her hands in his. "I'm not sure I can trust you, Champion. I believe it would be prudent of me to check."

Marian felt the shiver race up her spine at the low cadence of his voice, and allowed herself to be lead over to the ladder leading up to what she assumed was some kind of storage area. "How do you expect to do that?" she quipped with a sly grin. She knew very well how he planned to ensure she was ready for him - that she wanted him - but she also wanted to play along.

He chuckled at her, hands leaving hers to settle against her hips, thumbs rubbing small circles just beneath the waistband of her leggings. "Well first, you'll need to get these pants off."

Cullen walked her backwards until her ass hit one of the rungs of the ladder, tugging her leggings down by inches as she moved. With a wiggle of her hips, she assisted him in getting the garment halfway down, though grew frustrated with his measured pace and reached up, grabbing one of the upper rungs of the ladder and hoisting her body upward. Once her leggings were off, Cullen's smile widened into a grin as he regarded her from her naval. She'd leveraged herself up high enough that he was able to press a kiss to her stomach, and slipped two long, slender fingers over the curve of her hip, the top of her thigh, and then between her folds where she was  _definitely_ wet and ready for him.

"Mmm," Cullen murmured, kissing his way down her stomach, pausing when he could reach no further. He addressed her by glancing upward from beneath his brows, flicking his tongue out to lave at the sensitive skin that was usually hidden by the waistband of her trousers.

Marian shuddered as she inhaled, missing this - missing  _him_  - and gripped the rung of the ladder a little tighter as she moved to drape her legs over Cullen's broad, bare shoulders. He quirked his lip, scar tugging upward as he smirked, and then delved into her. His tongue pressed flat against her sex, a shiver running the length of his spine as he tasted her for the first time in months. Eyelids fluttering closed, Cullen lost himself in Hawke, worshiping her with his tongue. He wanted nothing more than to join with her, to meld into one writhing mass of flesh and bone so that nothing - not space, nor circumstance, nor duty could ever separate them again. He would wait, though. He could be patient. It was enough that for now he could taste and smell her all around him, letting him know that she was indeed there, alive and whole, in his embrace.

Hawke bit her lip, grip tightening around the rung of the ladder and causing the structure to creak weakly while she let loose a whimper at Cullen's attentions. He alternated between gingerly sucking on the pearl of her clit, then dropping his ministrations to her slick sex where he proceeded to fuck her with his tongue until her quiet whimpering breaths became exultant cries of pleasure. Eventually, when her arms began to burn from the strain of holding herself up, sweat dripping down the hollow of her spine, Cullen slipped two fingers inside of her and crooked them just so. It was enough to startle her - enough to cause her to lose her grip on the ladder and fall into Cullen's arms.

The pair of them ended up a clumsy tangle on the floor of sweat-slicked limbs and urgent touches, the graceless topple to the ground forgotten as Marian immediately set after what she truly wanted from her Knight Commander.

She was astride him in seconds, her wet cunt sliding against the rough leather of his breeches and the hard length of him hidden beneath. Though still clothed, his cock jumped against her as she ground down upon him, palms braced flat against his naked chest.

"Satisfied, Knight Commander?" Marian breathed heavily, words hitching when her pearl pressed against the seam of his trousers.

Cullen bucked up against her, a long, hair-raising groan leaving him as he gripped her hips with bruising force, and kept her slick heat firmly against his rigid cock. "Maker's breath, Marian," he groaned again when she leaned forward to take one pert nipple into her mouth. "Get off of me so I can finally fuck you."

He rolled, and with a squeal Hawke tumbled to her side, watching with a wide grin as Cullen struggled to peel his pants down over his jutting cock and muscled thighs. He caught her gaze, huffing indignantly because his struggle to get his bloody clothes off was most definitely  _not_  amusing in the slightest. When he finally freed himself, she was laughing outright, and he rolled over on top of her, crushing his lips against hers to silence her on the matter for good. Hawke widened her legs, allowing him to slot his hips against hers, his cock slipping against her folds as he kissed her breathless. Maker love her, he could still feel the rumble of her giggles bubbling up from her chest, and he couldn't help but smile against her lips at her mirth.

"Cullen," she managed to murmured between kisses, rolling her hips so that the head of his cock lined up almost perfectly with her entrance. She wiggled again, applying enough pressure that he began to press inside.

Cullen dropped his head to her shoulder, letting out a low hiss against her collar at the sensation of being within her once again, but not wishing to go too quickly. He felt that if he didn't pace himself, this entire affair would be over embarrassingly quickly. Slowly, inch by blessed, pulsing inch, he sheathed himself inside of her. The tension in his corded muscles cause his body to shiver as he slowly drew out of her, but Marian abruptly turned her head, whispering something into his ear that had him snapping his hips roughly against hers.

"Fuck, Marian!"

She let out a pleasant little cry, drawing the lobe of his ear between her teeth, causing him to thrust heavily against her once more. When she wrapped her legs around him, heels pressing into the firm rise of his ass to draw him even deeper inside of her, Cullen gave up all hope of having a slow, seductive reunion with his feisty little apostate.

Rearing back, bracing himself up on his palms, Cullen began to fuck her in earnest, cock slamming into her dripping cunt. Marian's cries became wails of pleasure, fueling his rapid pace as they echoed off of the stone around them. He drew one hand up, sliding his palm up her chest to palm a breast before abandoning it and drawing his fingers higher over her throat. He paused for but a moment over her rapid pulse, then slid his middle finger into her gasping mouth, tightening his grip on her jaw.

She clamped down on the digit, eagerly sucking his finger as she might his cock. He felt the slightly rough texture of her tongue swirl around the pad of his finger, and then the gentle pressure as she sucked on him. Cullen imagined what the sensation would feel like if she sucked him off like that, and though he was pounding out his release in her slick heat, the added sensation of her eagerly sucking his finger had him quickly chasing down his orgasm. Hawke's free hand flew to her pearl, rubbing herself frantically to seek her own end with a cry while she felt Cullen spill himself inside of her.

Neither Cullen nor Hawke were aware of how much time they spent on the floor, sweaty and slick with the evidence of their lovemaking. Cullen lay boneless and heavy on top of Marian, though she found the weight comforting as she speared her fingers through his damp, pale curls and listened to his breathing quiet.

It was a few moments more before he deigned to speak, resting his chin against her sternum as his honeyed eyes bore into hers. "I'm glad you're safe," a pause and he let out a breath. "I'm glad you're here."

Marian smiled brightly, squeezing his flanks with her thighs. "I'm glad to be here."

"Will you stay this time?" Cullen asked.

Her smile faded somewhat as she leaned forward to press her lips against his brow. "When this business with the Wardens is finally finished, I'm yours."


End file.
